Seasonality

I could've easily collected enough Ceps (Boletus edulis) for a good meal on our walk this morning. I didn't though. I don't feel right collecting resources out of their season; I'm quite married to the notion of our seasonal wheel. To pinch a biblical line 'there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity'.  Though I'm concidering whether I may have to reassess that position if the seasons shift proper.

All change

The first 2 miles of our walk this morning was undertaken in glorious sunshine, the following 12 miles were not. Quite the dramatic change of conditions, although the walking remain consistently good throughout, unseasonal weather aside. The first shot is along the main track through Broomy enclosure and the second is over Rakes Brakes Bottom and Dockens Water from Fritham Plain.

Debris

 

Squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis) have been busy.

Blackensford Brook

 

The forest is always full of surprises, take Blackensford Brook here flowing like this during the summer. Not a common sight.

Bufo bufo

 

I disturbed two healthy looking Common Toads (Bufo bufo) whilst moving some membrane on the lotty this afternoon. The membrane had been folded over a couple of times as I'd opened up the bed and the toads were holed up in the folds. The toad pictured was by far the largest of the two, so I'm going to say she was the female of the pair. Toads are always welcome on the plot, the damage control service they provide is invaluable, the slug empire will be defeated. Though I have to say I've seen few slugs or snails about this year; I wonder why that is? Surely toads can't have eaten them all.

The Gatekeeper

 

They say the Gatekeepers' habitat is grass and scrub, so I was chuffed to see them in our garden, as grassy scrub land was the aesthetic we were going for. There's a lot of them too. No doubt attracted by our healthy and numerous clumps marjoram, one of the Gatekeepers' favourite sources of nectar.

Beefsteak

Add Beefsteak mushroom (Fistulina hepatica) to the list of mushrooms out and about.

Welcomed rain

 

The recent rains have given even the smallest of the forest streams their voices back, and the brooks are back to babbling their song as they pass. The forest has enjoyed the rain, looking lush and verdant for it.

Cobnuts

 

The year before last I pollarded (after a fashion) our 10 year old Cob Hazel (Corylus). I'd imagined it would've taken a few years before the tree produced nuts again. I was mistaken. I've spied quite a few good sized nuts so far.

Oysters

Nice find.  An extensive spread of fresh young button Oyster mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus) clumps on a fallen beech in Mark Ash Wood. The rains have really brought the forests' fungi to life. I've now seen Oyster, Summer Cep, Chanterelle, a variety of Russula and Puffball, and plenty of others whose identities are unknown to me. The forest continues to riff on that autumn vibe. 

Heart of the forest

At the heart of the forest are it's streams, and the heart of those streams are the springs, spreads and collects that feed them.

Black Water

 

Black Water above Gravelly Ford.

Bolete

 

I've seen a few Summer Boletes (Boletus reticulatus) about.

Cone resin

Of late I've seen several of the forests' Douglas Fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) cones oozing sticky fragrant resin, not just the cones either, their needle like leaves too. As well as being a highly prized and versatile timber with wide ranging use, and its needles making a renowned healing tea, the resin of the Douglas can also be used as an antiseptic to treat wounds, chewed as a gum, or used to treat coughs, colds and sore throats. I just love the smell of it. 

Autumn calling

I can't be the only one feeling it? As if Autumn is here. I know it's July but all my senses are questioning whether it's not autumn already?  Of course I know it can't be, but the forest is doing a bloody good impression. The smells, the sounds, the colour palette, the atmosphere amongst the stands, all suggest that transitional phase between late summer and autumn. It's probably an illusion created by the weather we've been experiencing; though I've long suggested that spring and autumn are extending their ranges, whilst summer and winter are contracted theirs into shorter seasons.

Warwickslade

Once the straightest of straight Victorian forestry drains Warwickslade Cutting was restored to a meandering course back in the noughties, and now both stream and environs are re-established.

Natural engineering

On the floor amongst the stands on the edge of Red Rise, a beautiful small nest probably dislodged by the recent strong winds. A simple combination of horse hair and moss fettled so masterfully as to produce a structure light and strong, insulated and protective, Just perfect for its purpose. Mother nature at her best.

Brinken

It was lovely reconnecting with Brinken Wood this morning. Brinken used to be a regular haunt of ours until the New Forest National Parks Authority closed the lay-by which had always allowed us direct access. Since then we've only skirted it's edge on some of our longer walks, but not had the opportunity to wander its familiar stands as we had. Silly really, it's just that we'd always used that lay-by. There are other ways to access Brinken which only involve short walks.

bee

It's been nice seeing the bees and ting enjoying our garden after what has so far been a rather insect free summer, year in fact. In particular our Lavender (Lavandula) are buzzing with activity, as dozens of frantically probing Bumble Bees (and other bees) winkle out flowery goodness; in the garden in general there's been a noticeable upturn in airborne activity, all sorts. As yet not to the levels one would expect normally though. Still cool.

Ober

Ober Water below Markway Bridge early this morning.

Burley Old

Smell the wet woodland. 

Peak green

With many of it's paths disappearing under a sea of towering growth the Common's reaching peak green.

Quick change

 

We followed this same route through the stands yesterday morning when we walked easily across exposed gravel stream bed; all change this morning though, recent rain saw Black Water posing an obstacle again. Not an insurmountable one though, as a few gravel patches remained.  But still, what a transformation.  

Narrative shmarrative.

 

It's horrible seeing our natural world so stressed, struggling under the pressures of rampant abuses and accelerating erratic change. I've always felt a deep connection to nature. I've been an environmentalist all my adult life, an activist on many occasions too, and grasp the reality of the magnitude of the crises facing us; because lets be honest the climate crisis isn't the end of the world, the world has survived far worse and will inevitably endure this too. No, it's the potential end of us or more precisely it's the end of this iteration of us; humanity may endure but it wont be like this.

So, I'm no denier. But, man, the current climate narratives leave me cold. Why? Primarily because they're all bollocks. Some purposely failing to address the foundational problem of our consumption/behavioural habits, in favour of the idea that 'growing' a 'green economy' where we essentially carry on our destructive behaviours through virtuous 'green' means will save us; a comforting fantasy for the privileged classes. A fantasy that's for the birds. Scrutinize the detail and none of it adds up. And what does the future look like for the growing body of marginalized  disenfranchised folk who aren't privileged with agency and opportunity? It looks at best to me quite like green feudalism and opportunity apartheid; the dystopian societies of scifi novels made manifest. Fuck that. Or you've the wailing doomers with their worst case scenarios, where there's no averting our extinction, we're the walking dead. I don't think fatalism is a motivator; unless the response you desire is 'well fuck it then'. Neither green techno-unicorn-ism or death cult narratives move us towards the change we need to make. I'm bored of hearing them. We need to acknowledge that wide ranging climatic and social change is now baked in; though if we get our heads out of our arses, there's a hope that strategies for our managed decline and survival could be achieved. I wonder though if we've really the desire or stomach for the change required. If the current narratives can't convince me as one who's already on board, how are they going to convince the uninterested, the sceptic or worse the denier?

14 pebbles

 

14 pebbles placed on the hollowed stump of an ancient tree. A good choice of spot. So what's this about then? I think the pebbles must have been brought out to the forest intentionally, that there's motive behind the circle beyond simply spontaneous art for art sake. Yes you could pick up pebbles in the forest, though the majority are dirty sub angular or angular, and those from the streams are frequently stained; no, these look more like selected coastal pebbles of roughly similar size, they're very clean too. Of course I reserve the right to be wrong, though I don't think I am. Burley Old again, there's something about these stands, something magical that compels people to be creative, to leave their mark; art, shelters and graffiti amongst other works great and small. The stands here do have something compelling about them; the magic of old woods maybe.

Mast

 

It's an outstanding year for Beech (Fagus sylvatica) mast (mast being the fruit or nut of the tree), throughout the forest the boughs are loaded with their rough hairy cups, each containing one or two nuts. Of course, we'll have to wait until September to see if they amount to much; quality and quantity of mast production is massively variable, they say you get a good mast season every few years, which is believed to be driven, in part, by weather/climatic factors. At home for the first time our small (20 year old) container (old chimney pot) grown Beech tree has some hairy cases on it.

Sun through High Wood

Sun through High Wood

Golden

A Golden Retriever immersed in a golden dawn; Geoff takes in the sunrise as we approach the exit the lower defencive ditch after spiralling around the hillfort's defences from top rampart to lowest ditch.

Dawn mist

 

As the sun rose so did the dawn mists and 30 minutes after I'd taken the photo of the Solstice sun rising, I took this photo above. A dramatic transformation, swift too. Where we'd enjoyed expansive vistas across the Dorset landscape, now we could barely see the adjacent ramparts and the Solstice Sun looked more akin to a bright full moon. Then just as swiftly 30 minutes later again, the mist had completely evaporated and disappeared to reveal a glorious morning and the magnificent surrounding landscape. Added a certain magic to an already outstanding Solstice.

Rise and shine

Badbury Rings, a venerable Iron Age citadel of the Durotriges, the 'Celtic' tribe of our region; and the perfect place to welcome in the Summer Solstice sunrise. Parking off the Beech lined Blandford Road we followed a track up towards Badbury as the eastward horizon took on a subtle peach hue. The sun was coming. Scaling the inner rampart, the highest one, we took up a familiar position, one we'd occupied several times previously; we weren't alone, around the ramparts a number of people were waiting for the Sun to rise too. I took time to ground myself, to focus on my breathing, as I cleared my mind and shifted my inner focus from the mundane to the significance of the moment. The Oak King's time has come, the land is burgeoning, the Goddess is flourishing, and the Horned God's work is done; the Holly King now takes the throne and oversees our slow return towards darkness. I seem always to be taken by surprise at the speed at which the sun breaks cover, and marvelled at it's ascent. Nearby a group of women began to chant, allowing me to run some Awens without feeling too self conscious; I drank in the atmosphere. What a sensational Solstice sunrise.  Solstice blessings y'all /|\

White mares

 

We saw three white mares on Red Rise brook this morning. Which was nice. I've always been taken by white horses; I think initially it was a 60's TV show of that name which captivated me, the theme tune of which still plays in my head whenever I see a white horse, and later their association with folklore.  The White Mare Goddess and the Summer Solstice are linked; is this Epona, Etain and Rhiannon preparing for their duties perhaps?  I'd like to think so.

After the rain

This morning it was like the Gods had turned up the saturation on the forest; the rain has refreshed and revived the the stands, and verdance reigned. We were out early again, the first (to our knowledge anyway) of the day to tread these woodland paths, breath deep their freshly cleansed air and atmosphere; and it felt good.

Chicken's hatched

First Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus) I've spotted this year; a good healthy clump too; could be a week or so old, still good enough to eat though.

Wild colts

We watched a pair of young colts sparring, practising the moves and manoeuvres they'll need in order to gain status in the herd as young adults; learning through role play, as did we. One kicked the other in the face, then as if shocked by it's action ran to it's mothers side, the other slightly stunned looked quite nonplussed; any animosity didn't last though, and it wasn't long until the colts were reunited in play, both mothers and sons moving on in unison. The scene strangely resonated, struck a chord; it's lovely to watch animal behaviour, to see them in us and us in them, seeing in so many ways we are one.

Flat Oak

I've long known this Ancient and venerable oak as the Flat Oak according to it's shape, although this morning Cernunnos had manifest deep in the woods and the mighty oak was undeniably channelling the horned God; apt with the Summer Solstice soon upon us.

The beach

We've neglected the coast of late, so our walk this morning was to and along the beach. Beautiful morning, and hardly a soul about.

Stream side path

The entire walkable length of Highland Water from Ocknell Arch down stream to Bolderford Bridge where it joins Flecthers Water becoming the Lymington River is blessed with some wonderfully picturesque paths. The streams nourish the forest, and all forest life is seen frequenting their environs at some point; if you want to connect with the heart of the forest then you could do worse than to walk their meandering banks. 

View from the top

 

Imagine being this wood Ant (Formica rufa) surveying the vast wild expanse of the forest before you from the vantage of this towering Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea); must be a different world. Puts me in mind of Brian Aldiss' sci-fi novel Hothouse where far future humans live on an Earth choked with giant plants; good read if you enjoy the fantasy genres.

Chewton Common

 

Our local common is a wonderful space, as well as a vital community resource. A mosaic of different environmental types: heather and gorse heath, rough grassland, pockets of coniferous and deciduous woodland; it's seasonally waterlogged in winter/spring due to underlying clay geology and choked with towering growth in summer/autumn. Set in our suburban sprawl it's a rich and diverse parcel of land, of massive value to wildlife as well as locals. It's a nice size tract of land, not huge, though being criss crossed by a myriad paths gives it the illusion of being much bigger than it is, and gives you the opportunity if you opt for canny routes utilising as many paths as possible to rack up surprising distances. As I say, a wonderful space. Common land is a blessing, man, and one I'm grateful for; though by natural law reasonable access to the land should be ours by right. 

Oak Apple

Oak Apple, home to the Oak Apple Gall Wasp (Biorhiza pallida), easy to see where it gets it's name; looks and feels like a gone over apple. I'm sure there's been a marked increase in galls on the oaks in recent years; last year locally the oaks of the common were covered in Knopper galls.